Hundred Dollars Easy
by Brunette
Summary: A few nights before leaving for Hamunaptra, Daniels, Burns, Henderson, Jonathan and Beni strike up a bet. [one-shot]


_**Author's Note.** And the writer's block continues...Something's better than nothing, right? Also, HUMOR. It was time for some humor, ya'll._

**_Also, it's another *slight* AU_**_, 'cause I'm not Kittiko-Blues and sure can't find those places in the plot to put awesome one-shots. We all know these characters should have casually hung out prior to the movie. WE ALL KNOW THAT. Though I think this could have feasibly happened..._

_Also, since LB and Bootsy are history-lovers and will totally catch it, I made a little allusion to Jean Harlow, who was just a TAD later than the setting of the movie/this story. _

_**Disclaimer:** The characters of _The Mummy_ and _The Mummy Returns_ are the property of Universal Studios. _

* * *

**Hundred Dollars Easy**

"W-what I'm sayin' is - what I'm _sayin'_ is - is, is that women love me. Just come natural, see? 'Sss...what I'm sayin'..." Henderson punctuated his loud and slurred declaration with a hefty gulp of bourbon. His friends cackled, and the other men around him raised their eyebrows curiously or incredulously. He wasn't one to tell the difference.

"Ah, bullshit," Daniels retorted, taking a swig of his own glass. Henderson turned to him with wide, emphatic eyes.

"They do, Dave! That they do...I got...see, I got - I got - I got the mug of 'nnn angel and, and blond hair."

"Is it blond?" the Englishman sitting nearby them piped up, furrowing his brow skeptically.

"The ladies...love blond hair."

Daniels rolled his eyes, mumbling into his glass, "Yeah? Well what about 'tall, dark and handsome'?"

Henderson guffawed, slapping Daniels heartily on the back. "Ho, son! Ya do - realize yer only one 'a them, right?"

Daniels' face grew red and hot with anger, and the men around him were just a little too drunk to stifle their laughter. He turned on Henderson animatedly.

"Well yer none of 'em, jackass."

Henderson blinked hard, and swayed against the bar, catching himself on the counter for balance. "I'm...tall..." A ridiculous grin split across his face. "And handsome, too! That's what - that's what...I'm tellin' you about...the ladies...love me..."

"What ladies?" Daniels demanded, only half-joking. _"Where_ are all these womenfolk you claim you got flockin' to you like you some kind 'a Messiah?"

The men laughed while Henderson floundered an explanation, and in the midst of his flustered and bourbon-soaked explanation, one particularly high-pitched chortle stood out and grated against his ears. He stopped all the sudden, and his brow furrowed up in consternation as he glared around his friends and caught sight of the slight little man perched on a barstool just on the other side of Burns. He certainly _remembered_ the foreign weasel they'd hired to take them out to Hamunaptra in a few days; he just couldn't remember how it was he'd wound up drinking with them.

"Hey!" Henderson shouted. "What're...'re_ you_ laughin' at?"

Beni immediately bit back his laughter, glancing nervously about the bar before offering Henderson his most grieved and wide-eyed look. "Oh, barat'm, I certainly was not laughing at you. The bartender had just told a wonderful joke - "

Henderson squinted at him suspiciously for a moment, but he was drunk. And when he was drunk, he was always inclined towards a good mood and good will. He decided Beni didn't seem like such a bad fellow after all.

"Ah'right," he said, and sniffed.

Daniels smacked him upside the head. "'Ah'right,' you stupid twat? Little bastard was _absolutely_ laughin' at you, and tell a bald-face like that for to cover it up - "

Henderson shrugged and shook his head, reaching for his glass of bourbon again. "Got no cause laughin' at me," he muttered, taking the final sip from his glass. "Got women come to me like a...like...uhh...flockin' like a Messiah - "

_"I_ said that, you dumbass."

"He probably ain't never touched a woman in his...in his life," Henderson went on, ignoring Daniels. He raised his eyebrows and waved a hand to flag the bartender. "Hey! Another!"

"I think you've had enough," Burns said quietly.

Daniels snorted and ribbed him with his elbow. "Ah, hell, Burns. What're you, his pal or his mommy?"

Burns let out a sigh, "Well as many times as I've had to clean his puke out 'a carpet, I might as well be his mama..."

"Oh, hush."

"So - forgive me for butting in, my good fellows - but, Mr...Henderson, was it?"

Henderson turned to stare glaze-eyed at the English fellow on his other side. His name was John or something...Johnson? Jonathan? That was it. Jonathan.

"Yes, hello," Jonathan said with an innocent grin. "I was wondering...seeing as how you're such a Casanova and all, if you'd be interested in making a little wager with me."

Daniels straightened in his seat, a sort of demeanor about him that Jonathan might have considered protective on another person. "What kind 'a wager you got for my friend too drunk to stand on 'is own two feet?"

Jonathan chuckled nervously, and reached a finger under his shirt to loosen his collar. "Well, you see, I'm only...curious as to the nature of your friend's own particular manner of seduction, and I was wondering if he'd be willing to stake anything on it - "

" 'Course I would!" Henderson bellowed.

Daniels shot him a look. "Henderson, there ain't a woman in this bar fool enough to go home with you in the condition you in."

"Hafta be a real Helga just to get him off 'a that barstool," Burns said with a chuckle.

"I can - I can get any woman to come home with me in - in - in_ any_ condition!"

Beni scoffed and took a nervous little sip from his glass.

Henderson's eyes narrowed. "What's _yer_ problem...bohunk? You couldn't bag a broad in any...perdition - "

"Condition, Henderson."

"That too!" He leaned around in his seat to give an approving look to Burns. "Thanks."

Burns offered him a forced smile and a nod. He glanced at Daniels before looking over at Jonathan. "I don't know about any such bets tonight..."

"Ah, hell," Henderson said. "Find me a woman! Any woman, and I _guarantee_ she comin' on back my ways!"

"Then you _are_ interested in the wager," Jonathan said with a smarmy grin.

"He ain't," Burns said dismissively, but no one was listening to him.

"Yessir!" Henderson declared. "Pick 'er out. She's good as mine."

"Marvelous!" Jonathan said, and turned his attention to scoping out the dim, smoky bar for some sign of an acceptable female form.

Meanwhile, Burns gave Daniels a nudge. "You really gonna let him lose a load 'a cash on this foolishness?"

Daniels raised his eyebrows and cackled. "By God, Burns, you might just be that man's mommy."

Burns told him to shut up, and Jonathan's brow furrowed at one particular young woman who'd just stepped into the bar. They were drinking at a clean, quiet little casbah usually frequented by tourists, and considerably different from the sorts of places Jonathan liked to go when he had a mind to get raging drunk. He came to this bar, and others like it, for the opportunity to dupe a tourist and pick pockets, and - if he was feeling particularly charming - for sweet, fresh young women, wide-eyed and thirsty for adventure in exotic Egypt. In this endeavor, he was often times quite successful, especially with American girls, who were easily lured in by his bright blue eyes and charming accent. He knew just what to look for, too, and this woman - who was probably closer to twenty-five than twenty - was exactly the sort, with her smooth, gleaming bob (white hot as Harlow's from heavy bleaching, no doubt) and luminous blue eyes flashing under the weight of dark eye shadow and even darker mascara. Her lips, which were an almost angelic shade of soft pink, were set in the properly bored expression that the flappers had championed as their own. He paid little attention to her fashionable dress other than to note that it was sleeveless and a little too short, and that her stockings were rolled down to just below her knees.

So they weren't blazing any new territory as far as she was concerned.

Jonathan took a sip of scotch, and glanced at his companions. "What about that one, old mate?"

Henderson blew a raspberry when he finally caught sight of the woman Jonathan was discretely attempting to indicate. "Easy as pie!"

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "Fifty pounds easy?"

_"Son,_ a hundred dollars easy!"

Jonathan fought the urge to laugh, but he couldn't help a wide and greedy grin. "Well, if you say so, I'd happily oblige - "

"Hold up," Daniels cut in. "You sayin' you would pay my buddy Henderson here a hundred dollars if he can get that broad to bed with him?"

Jonathan shrugged. Daniels snickered. "Then count me in."

Jonathan's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry, count you in how - ?"

"I'll go for her. Hundred dollars easy, alright."

"That wasn't exactly the wager I was looking to make - "

Daniels' eyes narrowed at him dangerously. "Well you just made it, buddy. Fact, I got a mind to open this little wager 'a yourn up. Let's say any fella gets her wins a hundred buckeroos tonight."

Burns throat jerked with a nervous swallow. "I don't know about that, Dave..."

Daniels turned on him irritably. "Then you can sit here wringin' your hands like a mammy. I don't give a damn, I'm gettin' me a broad and one hundred bucks. You in, Jonny?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I didn't think I had any choice - "

"Good." Daniels chuckled darkly, casting a condescending eye in Beni's direction. "What about you, bohunk? Up to it?"

Beni flinched in his seat, his eyes darting across the bar to the young woman in question, who was currently sucking on the end of a cigarette holder, lazy and bored, gazing out the window. He fought down a little smile, and turned to Daniels.

"I will take part in your wager."

Daniels let out a loud laugh and slapped Henderson. "See Gabe! You ain't the only one drunk past all sense and reason!"

"I'm not drunk," Beni muttered.

But Daniels ignored him, turning his attention back to Burns. "What'dya say, Burnsie? Still out?"

Burns shifted his weight stiffly and shook his head. "Yep."

"Ah, c'mon, even chicken-shit over there's givin' it a go."

"I'm not comfortable with this."

Henderson guffawed, and did a poor mimick of his voice, "'I'm not comfortable with this.' Why? On account 'a your sweetheart Mamie?"

Burns let out a long sigh, helpless for an explanation. "Sure."

"Fine. More for me," Henderson said.

Daniels snorted. "Like he was gonna put up much competition, anyways."

Burns turned and gave his friend a look, his mouth open to retort something, but he thought better of it. With a sigh, he picked up his glass of bourbon and took a sip.

"So how we do this?" Daniels demanded.

Jonathan scratched the back of his head. "Well, I don't really know...we might each take a go at buying her a drink - "

"Hell, that don't work," Daniels spat.

"And why not?"

"Because," he said impatiently, "whoever buys the last drink gets her. She'll be drunk off everybody else's drinks. She'd even be liable to go home with what's-his-name down there."

"It's Beni, _barat'm."_

"If she...resists that long!" Henderson said with a chuckle.

"I know what your goddamn name is, you stinkin' foreign som'bitch."

"It could work," Jonathan said. "She has to agree to get a drink first, after all - "

Daniels mulled this over for a moment, and then nodded his head. He took a gulp of bourbon, his eyes wandering back to the woman in question again, imagining for a moment the warmth of her body against his, the touch of her lips and her smooth, pale skin...

Jonathan cleared his throat, eyeing Daniels obviously. "Well. Let's say we let Mr. Henderson go first. Hmm?"

Daniels glanced between his friend and this English con man thoughtfully, before at last giving a little nod of his head. "Ah'right. We'll try it that way." He slapped Henderson on the shoulder. "Batter up, Gabe."

Henderson chuckled, stumbling off of his barstool and turning around to look at them with a smug grin on his face. "Ya'll're 'bout to be some real sore losers! Why - why don'tcha jes put that hundred bucks right on in my hand!"

Burns sat up a little in his seat. "I'll hold it."

Daniels frowned. "What?"

"Well, that way no one can slip out 'a here 'fore they paid their part 'a the bet. Gimme the money. I'll hold it."

Beni scoffed. "You will steal it."

"Ah, not Bernie," Daniels said dismissively. "Bernie'll sit here with 'a hundred bucks 'a our money and just drink cocktails with his legs crossed."

Burns let out a sigh, but didn't say anything. Jonathan shrugged. "Alright. Seems fair. Cough it up, gents. Twenty-five dollars a piece." He reached into the pocket of his jacket and procured a wallet, and thumbed out a few bills. "Ah, see? I have the rough equivalent in English pounds."

"I want American dollars," Daniels said darkly.

Jonathan met his gaze with a sniff. "Well I haven't got American dollars, have I? I've got English pounds, and as we're in an English territory, I don't think it's so unreasonable to use them. God save the King and all that."

Daniels grumbled to himself and pulled out his own wallet, yanking out a few bills and tossing them next to Burns' spot on the counter. Henderson fumbled for his wallet, and managed to count out the appropriate sum after a lot of squinting and laughing. They all turned expectantly to Beni, who offered them a sheepish grin.

"Oh, my friends, I am afraid you have caught me short-handed - "

"Bullshit, we just paid you this mornin'," Daniels cut in. "Cough it up."

Beni laughed nervously and waffled for an excuse, but eventually spat a few Hungarian curses and pulled off his shoe. The other men watched curiously as he peeled off a few damp bills from inside of the shoe and held them out to Burns, who grimaced took them reluctantly between the tips of his fingers.

"The hell's the matter with you, usin' that nasty-ass foot money?" Daniels demanded.

Beni crossed his arms over his chest defensively. "You can never be too careful. When was the last time someone tried to pick your shoe?"

Daniels glared and shook his head. "That's disgustin'. You ain't even wearin' socks or nothin'."

"Who wears socks? It is one-hundred and ten degrees in the heat of the day!"

"Ladies, ladies," Henderson said, waving his hands dramatically. "Quitcher squabblin', and sit back. Learn from the master."

Daniels turned and laughed at him, mocking and incredulous. "Yeah, okay. Why don'tcha go show us how it's done, hot shot?"

"I'm gonna," Henderson told them, and stumbled across the room to the mysterious woman still smoking quietly by herself. They leaned back on their barstools and watched in interest as he slung a hand across her shoulders and promptly received a disgusted glare. She slipped out from under his arm and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring hard at him as he made a likely embarrassing drunken attempt at charming her. Daniels let out a cackle when she raised her arched eyebrows and shook her head, slipping easily past him towards the bar.

"Well, that was quick," Jonathan said under his breath, taking another sip of scotch. "Who's next, blokes?"

Daniels snorted, straightening in his seat a little. "I'll go. Might as well spare ya'll the shame 'a gettin' shot down." He glanced casually at Burns. "You dryin' out that foot money?"

Burns sighed, and opened his mouth to say something. But he was interrupted by the approaching woman, who slipped easily up to the bar and raised a finger to catch the barkeep's attention. They all stared at her, until she noticed and gave them a curious look. Their gazes fled nonchalantly, all of them except Daniels', which stayed fastened on hers until she calmly looked away and took a drag off of her cigarette.

Daniels moseyed on over to her just as Henderson stumbled back over to Jonathan.

"Guess she ain't open for business tonight, cuz," he said just a little too loudly, slinging an arm over Jonathan's shoulders. Jonathan shot him a glare and tried to slip his way out from under Henderson's grip. "Pro'lly picked a real nun or somethin'."

Jonathan took a hold of Henderson's arm and pushed it off of him, whispering irritably. "I did not pick out a nun! And shut up! She'll hear you!"

"Well...if she ain't...if she ain't comin' home with me, she ain't comin'...home with...nobody..."

Henderson's eyelids started to droop, and Jonathan turned helplessly to Burns. "He's going to pass out."

Burns let out a sigh. "Nah, he does that all the time."

Jonathan looked at Henderson and his closed eyes, shaking his head skeptically. But the man didn't collapse, and his head didn't even nod. He stood there motionless with his eyes closed, and Jonathan decided Henderson's friends probably knew best. He turned his attention to the other end of the bar, and strained to hear the conversation between Daniels and the young woman.

"So yer an American, too, huh?"

"Yes, from California."

"California! No shit? Where they make the movin' pictures?"

"Yes," she sounded just as bored as she looked, but that wasn't any inclination of things going poorly. These flappers always sounded bored. "I'm trying to get into the movies, actually."

Daniels' gave her a serious eye, and took a sip of his drink. "Well you sure are pretty enough for them movin' picture shows."

"Thank you."

"Give that Mary Pickford a run for her money."

"I don't know about that."

"Well I do. I seen all her movies, and I mean it - yer prettier."

She let out a little laugh and took a drag off of her cigarette.

"What's yer name, anyways?"

She glanced down at her drink. "Frances...Frances O'Nealey. But I changed it when I moved down to Los Angeles. I audition under the name Holly Nouveau."

Daniels chuckled. "Now I can just see that in lights. Holly Nouveau."

"Well, I thought it sounded stylish, anyway," she said, a little grimace tugging at the corner of her mouth. "And I don't sound like so much of a mick that way." She brought the cigarette holder to her lips and took another little drag, sighing out a stream of smoke. "Anyway, I know a bit of French, so I've been able to make use of Nouveau, more or less..."

Daniels leaned a little closer. "So which is it I call ya? Frances or Holly?"

She offered him a tight-lipped smile. "My friends call me Honey. Would you like to know why?"

"Sure, Honey."

She tilted her head at him curiously, but didn't correct him if she'd meant to. "It was the name of my first - well, only - speaking part. I was in this marvelous little Douglas Fairbanks film, about a detective. And I was a cigarette girl. And I said, 'Would you care for a cigarette?' And Douglas Fairbanks said, 'Sure, honey.' So that's what the part was named in the script - Honey. Anyway, it stuck."

"Suits you."

Honey let out a little scoff that might have sounded bitter, but she didn't say anything more. She puffed on her cigarette, and an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

"I'm Dave - "

"Thank you for the drink," she said, before he could even finish. She took her drink and started to turn away from the bar.

Daniels' brow furrowed up in perplexity, and he took a hold of her elbow. "Now hold up there a sec, Honey - "

Her eyes narrowed. "Dave, was it? I believe I told you my friends call me Honey, and we are not friends. I thanked you for the drink, and I'd like to be left alone now. Good night."

She tugged her arm free of his grasp and started to stride away, but Beni said something in a language that must have been French, that made her pause and turn around in curiosity. Jonathan caught Daniels' aggravated glance across the bar and shrugged helplessly. Daniels only snorted and trudged over to his friends, watching all the while as Beni and Honey...or Holly...or Frances spoke to each other in French.

"What do you think he's saying?" Jonathan asked thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Daniels blew a raspberry. "Ah, who gives a damn? C'mon, Henderson, we're gonna get you back to your hotel room 'fore you fall asleep standin' up again."

Henderson blinked his eyes open. "Did I win the bet?"

"No, you didn't win no bet, you stupid bastard," Daniels told him tersely, taking him by the shoulder.

"Well dijooo...did _you_ win the bet?"

_"No._ C'mon." He glanced over his shoulder fiercely at Burns. "You gonna just sit there or help me?"

Burns met his eyes evenly. "I have the money, remember? I'll be up to help you in a sec."

Daniels snorted. "Well, might as well hand it to Jonathan and call it a day. The greasy string bean over there ain't winnin' it."

Henderson let out a loud laugh, overcome with amusement. "Greasy - greasy...greasy string bean! I like that one, Dan...nnniels! That'll...stick..."

"Wake up, idiot. We gotta get up upstairs."

They lumbered off towards the front door of the bar, which actually let onto the lobby of a popular tourist hotel. Jonathan figured Daniels would have Henderson up in his room soon enough, and turned his attention to their mild-mannered friend seated next to him at the bar.

"I don't suppose you speak any French."

Burns chuckled. "Not a lick."

Jonathan sighed, his gaze wandering over to Beni and the woman, who, much to Jonathan's surprise, was tolerating his presence rather well. Holly (which was the name Jonathan decided he liked best) spoke French cautiously and articulately, with an obvious accent, and Beni - who was generally unpleasant and flighty - had made the effort to accommodate her by speaking more slowly, too.

Jonathan sighed. "How long do you guess this'll last?"

Burns shrugged. "If you ain't handsome...you gotta be charmin'."

"Well. I'll drink to that."

Burns chuckled, likely thinking on his friend Henderson and his buffoonery this evening. "And even if yer handsome, you gotta be charmin'." He took a sip of his bourbon. "Just don't gotta be _as_ charmin'."

Jonathan frowned good-naturedly. "Well speak for yourself, chap. I'm as bloody charming as I am handsome. And my mother always said I was the handsomest gent she ever laid eyes on. God's honest truth, she wouldn't lie to me."

Burns laughed and shook his head, glancing down the counter just as Beni slipped a nonchalant hand onto her knee. "Daniels is gonna be really damn pissed if that guy wins the bet." He glanced back over at Jonathan. "Don't reckon _you_ know any French."

Jonathan shook his head. "Oh, only the positively filthy things - " He stopped short all of the sudden, his eyes widening, and before Burns had a chance to ask him what was the matter, Holly tossed her drink in Beni's face, and he skittered away.

Burns turned to Jonathan in interest. "I take it that was one 'a them filthy things - "

Beni pushed past them anxiously. "She knows more French than I thought." And scurried out of the bar.

Holly was leaning against the bar in exasperation, and Jonathan decided it must be his turn. He sidled up to her, but before he could even open his mouth she turned on him with narrowed eyes and said:

"Don't you dare offer to buy me a drink. I've had enough bozos to last me a lifetime tonight, and I'm not remotely in the mood."

Jonathan's charming smile dropped from his face, and it was all he could do to just nod his head and skulk back over to Burns. He slapped a hand on his shoulder and sighed.

"Well, chap, looks as if it's a draw..."

Burns frowned. "So what do I do with the money?"

Jonathan shrugged. "Well...that Beni fellow got to touch her leg, which is closer than anyone else got. Give it to him?" He chuckled guiltily. "Or you could just, you know...give me my money back - "

Burns met his eyes with an odd kind of expression, harder than Jonathan had seen him look previously. "You lost the bet, cuz. You ain't gettin' any money back."

Jonathan frowned, taken aback. After a moment he nodded his head complacently and bid Burns farewell.

Burns let out a sigh and took another drink of bourbon. It was getting late and the crowd was dwindling, and he and the actress were the only ones left. He glanced at her and caught her eye, and held up a his glass. She sighed and held hers up, too, a half-hearted smile on her lips.

"Cheers," she said, and took a drink.

Burns took one, too, and glanced away. He was content to sit there, consumed by his own thoughts and avoiding the mess that Henderson was surely making up in his hotel room. But much to his surprise, she spoke again:

"I don't suppose you can tell me why men are such pigs?"

Burns chuckled. "I don't suppose I can..."

She shook her head. "All I do is attract buffoons. Can you look on my forehead? Can you tell me if there is a sign welcoming all buffoons to have a go at me?"

Burns pretended to squint at her forehead and told her, "Well, by golly, you do."

She giggled. "I do? Well I simply must have it removed."

"Yeah, I'd take care 'a that if I was you."

She sighed, glancing at him a few times uncertainly before getting off of her barstool and coming over to sit next to him. She looked at him very seriously.

"You know, I'm really not superficial. I went to dinner with Frank Campeau once. And I adore a man who can speak French, it doesn't matter what he looks like. But I don't think it's a lot to ask not to be spoken to like a prostitute, even if I _do_ think it's terribly tragic that he lost his wife in childbirth."

"No, that don't seem too unreasonable - "

"And I don't want to be told I'm prettier than Mary Pickford, either. I heard that enough times from her husband, but when push came to shove, he stayed with her, didn't he?"

Burns raised his eyebrows. "You had an affair with Douglas Fairbanks?"

"Darling, every aspiring starlet has an affair with Douglas Fairbanks. It's supposed to get you places, having affairs with important buffoons." She sighed. "But it didn't get me anywhere, did it? I said, 'I'll get as far away from those Hollywood buffoons as possible.' And here I am, as far away as I could think of without going to China, which I figured was a bit too much like California, anyway. I lived in a horrid little apartment in Chinatown with three other girls. It was terribly hot and stunk like fried rice from the restaurant down below, but we were determined to make it. We were all going to perfectly famous and steal Douglas Fairbanks out from under Mary Pickford, but none of us did, did we?"

"Reckon not - "

"I had one measly little line in one measly little film no one ever even saw." She took a gulp of her drink. "They never finished it. It never even went to theaters."

"Sorry 'bout that..."

"And the only reason people call me Honey is because Douglas did. That's the only reason. He probably couldn't even remember Holly, and he never knew my real name - "

"Frances."

She looked up suddenly, confused. Burns met her eyes sheepishly, and shrugged. "Might 'a...might 'a heard a bit 'a your conversation earlier..."

She glanced down. "Oh." And sighed. "Anyway, it's been a dreadful night with a parade of buffoons - one right after the other - and now I'm pouring all of this onto you, which is certainly ridiculous. And now you probably see why I draw buffoons."

She took another gulp of her drink, finishing it off, and turned back to him with her wide, blue eyes.

"I like the way my name sounds in your drawl. It's charming," she told him. "And anyway, what I'm saying is, you don't seem at all like a buffoon, and would you like to come up to my hotel room with me?"

**end.**


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